This chapter's song is Midnight Lament by Aurelleah, the Einarx Remix.
Lyon looks down at his chest, and seems surprised at the lack of him dying there.
He turns to Sherria, and finds her choking on her own blood. The Marionette Mage collapses to the ground like one of her dolls when they've had their strings cut.
Blood seeps through a wound, the Word of Power cuing the poison to eat through her stomach, continuing around her body and consuming her organs. Her heart burst first, followed by her lungs, the holes being filled with blood, now on my nice clean floor. (191)
"Sherria…" Lyon gasps out, dropping to the floor to cradle her head.
The last of her life sputters out, and her final gasp of air bubbles out of her in a bubble of blood, bursting a spattering his beloved's blood all over Lyon's face.
"You…."
Lyon stands up, shaking with fury.
"You….."
He turns to face me, and I sip my wine a bit more, frowning at the lack of liquid in it.
"YOU!" he sprints at me, and I sigh, then speak out, "Brendon."
He falls to the ground before he can get two more steps closer to me.
Bacchus, the one who started this, charges after chugging the jar of alcohol he has with him at all times. Rocker joins him, the two powering up their attack.
I jump up, leaping onto the actual table that I sat at moments ago, and moving across it. (192)
I step down, Nexus holding his hands out together for me to descend gracefully. I nod to him in gratefulness, and turn my attention to the oncoming attack. No way to stop it without magical interference.
I throw up both hands and use a Ward Spell, the effects bursting out of what they should be and actually containing the blast to where they release their spells, enclosing them in a ball.
Nothing is damaged, thankfully, and I negate the spell once I can no longer feel a magical energy gathering on the other side. The magic fades, revealing them panting, and I murmur two more words.
"Slen. Rein." The first one fells Bacchus, and the other cripples Rocker.
They sputter for breath, and I hear a few people protest, some vehemently, and a woman shouting, then sobbing.
Jura moves towards me, and Hoteye joins him. "We cannot allow you to hurt our friends any longer. Therefore we challenge you to single combat- honorable."
"Pahlok." I say Jura's codeword, and he crumples to the floor. Arrogance suits him. He might be 4th in Wizard Saint power, but that's nothing compared to me. Hoteye stands there, looking shocked, and I whisper, "Qoth."
He falls with no sound, falling onto Jura's body.
"Is anyone else going to protest?" I ask the room.
No one responds, but my Brotherhood members smirk at the sight. Some don't approve, but control and a hierarchy must be established. Threats must be neutralized.
"Good." I slink back to my seat, and the meal waits in silence, food long grown cold. A single waiter walks out with a bottle of wine.
"More wine?"
"Yes. Sithis knows what I've had to deal with today."
Sithis knows what I've had to deal with today, I repeat in my head as I look at our newest prisoner. It's the reporter I choose only hours ago, a traitor.
"Ridiculous." I say, and roll my eyes up to the heavens. "Simply ridiculous."
The meal has finished, most people gone to their hotels and places and such, as I did not have any right to keep them here. Yet.
"Why not just kill her?" Nightshade asks.
Yes, for some reason, she's dragged herself along. Much she has to learn about being a leader.
"Because she may have copies of the report hidden places. And I need to have it destroyed. She's quite credible; it'd be hard to dismiss a story like this."
"Thank Sithis the editor was loyal." Morrigan, also here, states. She evaluates the prisoner.
"The incentives were a nice touch, too." Nightshade adds. Noctus would be here, but she'd rather be with Lucifer. Can't say I blame her. (193)
"I believe it would be best to wheedle it out of her." Nightshade continues. "Use torture if necessary."
"No. She hasn't done anything evil or wrong." Morrigan protests.
"But she's betrayed Mother's trust. Isn't that enough? Or are you defying the orders of your leader?"
"I gave no such orders, Nightshade. Watch your tongue. Morrigan, what do you suggest?" I whip out, silencing my daughter while still regarding the prisoner.
"If she does have any copies, she's too dangerous to leave without knowing the location of them. But, we can't exactly keep her here. If we kill her, it'll have to be an accident and in no way connected to us. She hasn't made it public yet that she is- was- our liaison. Therefore, it wouldn't be so shocking if nobody cared about that part. But she is notable in her field, which is why you sought her out." Morrigan analyzed.
"Correct. But I do not wish to kill her; she could prove useful. I have an idea." I state, and stalk over to the end of the cell block. Equipment is here.
I pick up a syringe with black liquid in it, and bring it over. "This should work nicely. Instant compliance, although not tested on everyone. But, it should suffice for our purposes."
Nightshade and Morrigan suck in a breath each as they see the weapon I have in my hands.
I walk into the cell and smirk in the darkness. She can't see my face yet. She cracks one eye open and mumbles out a, "Hello?"
I laugh quietly to myself, and approach her.
"Hello there. Do you know what I'm going to do to you, traitor?"
She squirms in her seat, not able to see who or where I am. "I-I-I'm not a traitor."
"Oh, but you are. Do not worry; this little remedy will fix all of your problems. Know what it's called? Of course you don't. I call it Unholy Vorpal Philter. You won't be you after this. It's been nice knowing you. Actually, it hasn't."
I slam the needle into her skin, and inject the Philter into her. She screams in pain, and, once it's all in there, falls unconscious immediately.
"Sweet dreams."
I return to my quarters and find Nightshade and Bickslow in a screaming match while Rogue stands near to her. Neloth, bruised, is being tended by Porlyusica, and the two obviously feel uncomfortable as hell, but their quipping hasn't reached shouting level yet, so I'm content to leave them be. Morrigan is wincing at every other word, standing by Bickslow and looking through papers on my desk strewn about.
The doors shut dramatically behind me, silencing the room and making them look at me.
"Listener." Morrigan nods, the first to greet me, and goes back to looking through documents.
At once, it is calm. The fire crackles merrily in the grate, and Neloth and Porlyusica are quiet, their dispute settled, at least temporarily. Rogue has been standing silently the entire time.
"Listener." breathes Bickslow and Nightshade, at the same time. I'm tempted to say jinx.
"What?" I ask, strolling towards the fire. The dungeons are rather cold.
"Am I…. Is she….?" Bickslow tries, but words appear to fail him.
Nightshade huffs. "Is Bickslow my dad?"
I frown, crouching down to the fire to warm my hands more completely. I've changed since the dinner, before I visited the reporter. Instead of a ball gown and the like, I now wear a cloak of Vale Sabre Cat hides. It's as luxurious as it is soft, and the patterns glow on the outside, providing some camouflage with fluctuating light, with a clasp of a miniature dragon head, made up purely of gems. The rest of my outfit is composed of low rise black flare jeans, a black belt with a metallic clasp keeping them up and holding onto my keys, a pouch of items, and Mehrunes Dagon's Razor, all out of the way. It's uncomfortable to have your hand brush up against an item that can potentially kill you in one swipe, no matter the damage dealt or armor integrity. Black combat boots, belted with silver clasps along their length, are hidden by the bell bottom jeans. They still pack a wallop, though. A cropped corset top, red underlying the white stringing up the corset section, just a shade or two above being sheer, and black everywhere else, completes the look.
"It…. is somewhat complicated." I answer, not looking away from the fire. It's a lovely fire. See that color? Beautiful. (194)
"How is it complicated?" Neloth grumbles, and I shoot him a warning look. He gulps, looks away, and shuts his mouth firmly. Porlyusica glances from Neloth to me and back, before glancing nervously at the ground. I make almost everyone nervous. (195)
"Maybe Neloth, Porlyusica, Rogue and I should leave." Morrigan states, and I nod. The aforementioned people walk out of the room, Neloth limping heavily. I can't help but smirk at that.
The doors close behind them, and I sigh, straightening up. Truth time, I believe.
"Well?" Bickslow asks. I can't bring myself to look away from the fire.
"... Yes." I answer.
"How?" they both ask. For never meeting before this tournament, they are ridiculously in tune.
"Magic." It sounds like a flimsy excuse, but it is the actual reason. Unfortunately, once I copied the material in the books and stored the originals in an impenetrable vault in Shadeleaf, I gave them to Neloth. Hey, the guy has a right to know what he's up against. Arrogant Telvanni bastard that he is.
"You're kidding." Bickslow sighs, and collapses into a chair. I give him a glance, and he looks…. well, exhausted is one way to put it, but boggled is another.
"It is a… difficult concept to understand, even for me. But that is what happened. Blood and Dragon magic is more of an abstract theory than anything concrete." I explain. It's seriously confusing. I've poured over books related, even by a single mention, to the topics, but found nothing that really explains it. "Being a vampire and a Dragon Slayer makes things… overly complicated, to say the least."
Nightshade huffs. "I'm ashamed to be related to you."
For a second I believe she's referring to me, but then I realize she's glaring at Bickslow.
"Do. Not." I say, my voice practically oozing threat and death.
She startles, and her eyes grow wide as she finds that I'm protective of my Mate. (196)
"He wasn't there to raise me! I can't help it if I hate him!" she states, her voice growing in volume. I frown, growling under my breath.
"While that is true, do not test me."
Nightshade takes a step forward. "I will do as I please, and if that includes insulting that incompetent, absentee father of mine, then I will!"
Magic crackles between us as we glare at one another, until Bickslow puts a stop to it with a Baryon blast, his puppets adeptly flying between us.
"Enough!" he shouts, and the two of us fly apart to opposite sides of the room.
My Mate stands in the middle, looking at us both. "You should not fight, you are family. We are family."
"Family. My Family! My family isn't you, you, you, heretic!" Nightshade blurted out, her voice rising to a shrill high, almost breaking my eardrums.
"If the Black Hand ever accepts you into their ranks, I'll kill you myself!" she screams out, and I rise, my head still down.
"WULD!" I Shout, and travel to Nightshade's position opposite. Calmly, I smile at her and hold her face gently in my hands. Her eyes try to decipher what I'm doing by looking within my own.
"Nightshade. Luna. Luna Laila. If you ever speak of doing something like that ever again, I will challenge you to open combat and I will kill you. Nobody threatens a Dragon's Mate and lives to tell the tale. I'm making a singular exception because you are my daughter." I smile throughout saying this as Luna's face drops any color it might have had, and she nods weakly at the end of my tirade.
I release her, and she stumbles backwards, her limbs shaking in both terror and shock. Luna moves backwards, not looking, but actively seeking the door. She twirls out and the door closes on its own.
Once she's gone, the reality of what I've said- to my own daughter- sinks in, and I weakly fall into a chair. What…. I stare at my hands, the very same ones that held my daughter in place, my Luna, as I threatened her.
The room seems… colder than before, I notice, as I draw my cloak around me, tighter. What did I….. what did I do….
Bickslow stands still, letting some of the silence calm both of us down. Reality slowly fades away, until I can only focus on our breathing. Its synchronicity. Simplicity. Smoothness.
Maybe I can convince Sheogorath to vacation here and I rule the Shivering Isles for a while…..
I chide myself mentally. That's crazy. Which means if I offered, he'd take it.
And probably kill thousands of people. (197)
The evening wears on, well, early morning, but the two of us don't do anything, the only movement coming from when Bickslow sits down, leaning against my chair and staring into the fire. Magically produced, it doesn't consume fuel. Took a hell of a lot of magic to start it, though.
Time passes without us noticing, until we both feel the inherent weakness that comes with the rising sun.
Another day has begun.
191- Goddammit, I sweat to Sithis this always happens. Someone dies on a clean floor. Do you know how much effort it takes to clean a floor of blood? A lot. A whole Gaan Pogaas lot.
192- I look ridiculous. Should never do this in a dress, ever. Just don't.
193- It's been, what, seven days since Bickslow and I have been reunited? I shouldn't feel this strong a pull to him.
194- It's a completely ordinary fire. I just don't want to look at the people I'm with at the moment.
195- Especially when I'm pissed. As I am currently. Fancy that.
196- This really shouldn't surprise me. Or her. But the closer you are to your Mate, physically or emotionally, et cetera, the more protective you are of them. She used to insult her father all the time, and I didn't care. But now... if she did, I believe I'd rip her head off. Somewhat unintentionally.
197- I shouldn't let that happen.